


Inside Man

by TheAntleredPolarBear



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, some mental health stuff going on so if you're made uncomfortable by that I'd be cautious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAntleredPolarBear/pseuds/TheAntleredPolarBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”<br/>– The Tales of Beedle the Bard, J.K. Rowling</p><p>(A small tie-in to Fugitives of the Empire, telling the story of how their man on the inside, mentioned in Chapter Two, came to be).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Man

_He screams._

_He’d been so obedient. He’d followed every order without question. He’d destroyed his own heart and sent his brothers to die in battle…everything just to avoid this fate. He struggles against the restraints but of course it does him no good. He yells for help but nobody seems to notice. The lights pass over him. Tears stream down his face. he’s so scared. why did this have to happen. he did everything they asked. a door slides open and the gurney stops. the light is so bright. so bitter. he’s so scared. his doctors ignore his screams._

_oh force please help me dont let me go like this im sorry i did all those things please just kill me now and i wont suffer ill be good im sorry i wasnt good please please please im sorry please help me i never meant to make you angry i never meant to hurt anyone dont take me away id rather die id rather stop id rather die forever dont take me away im sorry just please help me please please PLE_

* * *

CT-8599. The only name he knows, the only identity he has. He is a number. He is a clone. He stands at 1.83 standard metres, and has perfect 20/20 vision. He is unmarked by ink, he is clean shaven, and his hairstyle is perfectly in line with regulations. He is a perfect soldier. And he _always_ follows orders.

Good soldiers follow orders, after all.

He’s been tasked with patrolling the perimeter of a Republic outpost on the planet Rishii. It’s not difficult work, fit for a shiny like him. Separatist forces rarely make it out here, past Republic blockades. But it’s important; this is the last line of defence for Kamino, and without Kamino, there is no army for the Republic. There are Rishi eels to watch out for, and pirates, and showers of meteorites. CT-8599 is honoured to be chosen to fill such a crucial role in defending the Republic.

A flicker of movement catches his eye. Part of him thinks it’s probably a Rishii individual come to nose around. They often come up to the base, bringing food and drink, or offering company. They aren’t permitted on-base for security reasons, of course, but CT-8599’s fellows don’t seem to care much. They’ll happily break protocol to chat with the Rishii, or play quick games of cards. Often, CT-8599 has to run out onto the landing strip to remind them of the rules. He pulls himself out of his thoughts, and moves over to check the edge of the landing strip.

There’s no one within immediate sight, but he spots a trail of footprints leading behind a nearby ridge of rock. It stands around ten feet tall at its highest point, and a section of land behind it cannot be seen from the base’s security feeds. A pair of troopers is sent to check the blind spot every six standard hours. It’s a job he hates, but he ignores his feelings. He has to protect this base, whatever the cost.

Curiously, he finds not a Rishii intruder, but a human one behind the ridge; brown skin, dirty blonde hair, and a dense spattering of freckles. CT-8599 raises his blaster, pointing it squarely at the space between the human’s eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The human holds up their hands in a submissive gesture. Their almond-shaped, grey eyes grow wide with shock. “I’m Griff,” he responds. “Griff Reinux. I’m not here to fight. I just wanna talk to ya. It’s 8599, right?”

The clone takes a reflexive step back. His finger curls around the trigger of his blaster. “How do you know my serial number?”

“I can see it,” Griff replies. A cryptic response, CT-8599 notices, no doubt to confuse him. However, Griff surprises him when he begins to elaborate. “I mean, I can sense it, with the Force. It’s right at the front of your mind. Identities usually are. I was a Jedi, y’see?”

CT-8599 raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Whatever you are, you’re not authorised to be here,” he says, finally. “Put your hands together.”

Perhaps surprisingly, Griff obeys the order. CT-8599 takes his binders from his belt, and roughly cuffs Griff’s hands in front of him. He realises a little too late that he ought to have cuffed them behind his back. Still, he isn’t going to risk freeing him now. “Right. We’re going back to the base. I’ll call in my superiors, they’ll figure out what to do with you.” Griff shrugs.

“Lead the way,” he says, warmly. CT-8599 scowls. This one is acting strange. Something is definitely wrong here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Griff offers another shrug. “I told ya. I just wanna talk.”

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“About your Republic.”

CT-8599’s scowl deepens, if possible. What is this? Some kind of Separatist trick? Or is he one of those anti-war campaigners that he and his brothers scoff at? Do they think Chancellor Palpatine would have declared war if there was any other option? He decides to probe a little. It will pay to investigate a little before he brings a potential saboteur back to the base.

“You said you were a Jedi,” he begins. “I thought Jedi were loyal to the Republic.”

“I _was_ a Jedi,” explains Griff. “Not anymore. Just like you used to have a name.”

CT-8599 freezes. His mouth falls open a little, without him asking it to. A name? Why would he ever have had a name? He’d never had one in training, and he hadn’t found one since he’d been deployed. His squadmates all have them, but personally, he doesn’t see the appeal. He doesn’t need one to do his duty.

“I don’t have a name,” he answers, giving voice to the train of thought.

“You did, once,” Griff insists. “Your name was Dogma.”

CT-8599 scoffs. Now he knows this is rubbish. “Why would I name myself after a _traitor_?” He spits the word with all the venom he can muster. All the troops know the story of a clone who sent his brothers to die in droves on the word of a corrupt general, and tried to kill the men that disobeyed. They all hate him, even CT-8599, though he tries to suppress distractions as much as he can. “I’ve never even had a name. And if I did, I’d sooner die than call myself _Dogma_.”

Griff’s face falls. “Are…you really don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” CT-8599 snaps. “Will you stop being so damn vague? If you’re going to lie to me, you may as well be direct!”

“Dogma…”

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ”

“Okay,” Griff says, taking a step back as his eyes widen with alarm. “Okay, CT-8599, then. Do you remember anything from before you were sent here?”

“Of course I do!” he spits. The official explanation springs to mind. “I completed intensive training on Kamino in preparation for combat, and I graduated from…”

“Yeah, I know _that_ bit,” says Griff. “Where did you go after that?”

“I was assigned to this base. Right after graduation,” CT-8599 explains, a little frustrated by the interruption. “That’s as much as I can tell you. It’s classified information. The only reason I told you this much is because I’m taking you as a prisoner. Come with me, now! That’s an order!”

“You’ve been reconditioned,” Griff protests, ignoring CT-8599’s order to get moving. “You don’t remember being on Umbara, but you _were_ there.”

CT-8599 is beyond annoyed at this point. “I have _not_ been reconditioned!”

Griff shakes his head. “I’m sorry, CT-8599. I really am. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shut up! I’m taking you back to…”

The sky is dark, and bursts of mint blue flash past at blinding speed. His brothers fall on all sides. So much death. _Too_ much death.

Three of his brothers disobeyed their orders. One of them is already dead, burnt up high above the planet’s surface. CT-8599 organises a group of soldiers to execute the others. It hurts, oh, it _hurts_. Like nothing else he’s ever felt. But orders must be followed.

He stares down his commanding officer, holding his blaster, ready to fire. Other clones gather around them, defending _him_. Traitors, they’re all traitors.

His hands are bound and General Krell towers over him, laughing, _mocking_ him. He did this. He slaughtered CT-8599’s brothers, and CT-8599 defended him.

Krell is dead. A burst of savage glee, and then fear, and shock. _“I had to.”_

He looks back to his commanding officer, and nods. Captain Rex returns the gesture. The slight swaying of a gunship flying through turbulence.

A door slides open and his gurney stops. The light is so bright. So bitter. He’s so scared. His doctors ignore his screams.

_Don’t take me away…_

Dogma falls to his knees in the dirt. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, looking blankly ahead. Rishii seems so far away now, far away from this void that contains him and his memories. How could he even remember? He’d always thought reconditioning was irreversible…shouldn’t those memories be gone? And yet, here they are, words and flashes of light and the feeling of mulch under his feet, swirling in a confusing, horrid vortex that consumes Dogma’s thoughts until…

The feeling of air on his face snaps him back to the present. Griff, his hands still bound, carefully removes Dogma’s helmet, and it tumbles away. Dogma can see clearly into those steel-coloured eyes, brimming with sorrow and remorse. He ought to thank Griff, really. He gave Dogma his life back. Trouble is, he can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a burden.

“Wha…what?” is all he can think to say.

“I’m so sorry, CT-8599. I really am. But there are some things you can never really forget.”

For some reason, this is the thought that breaks him. Tears spill out of his eyes, and drip into the dry soil below. He screws up his face, trying to stop them. _Damnit, you’re a trooper! You’re a_ soldier _! Get a hold of yourself!_

Griff responds in a way that surprises him. He lifts his cuffed hands, and clumsily brushes the tears from Dogma’s face. The combination of the remembrance of his past, and the feeling of a caring touch, cause a swell of confusing emotions that prove too much for him to hold back. He opens his mouth and begins to wail.

He doesn’t know how long he kneels there, or exactly when he dropped his head onto Griff’s shoulder to sob into his cloak, but gradually the world starts to come back to him. Griff is the first thing he becomes aware of; his bound hands still laying against Dogma’s cheek and the rough-hewn fabric of his cloak seep warmth into his skin. One of Griff’s fingers gently brushes back and forth against his ear. His breath heaves choppily through his chest…is _he_ crying? Why would he be crying? Is he hurt?

In another lifetime, Dogma may not have much cared for this stranger. This is not a part of his orders, and honestly, the other men in his battalion would be far more suited for the task of comforting a random civilian. But now, now Dogma remembers what his rigidity earned him, he decides to help as best he can. He pulls away from Griff, hurriedly wiping his eyes, and looks him over. The colour of his cloak sends the sweet taste of medium blue flooding across his tongue. It’s comforting, in a way.

“I’m sorry,” Griff says, once again. He tries to wipe his own tears away, though his bound hands don’t give him much leeway. Dogma can’t release him, not yet at least, but he takes a handful of blue cloak and dries the other’s face. “I wish I didn’t have to do that. The worst thing you can do to someone, go inside their head without telling ‘em.”

Dogma can’t bring himself to be angry. Griff didn’t make up those memories, after all. He’d been the one to do all those awful things. All Griff did was remind him.

“Did it hurt you?” he asks, eventually.

“No…no, it’s just…it’s _violating_ ,” Griff explains. “I feel like I hurt _you_.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Dogma replies. “Feels like I did that to myself back on Umbara.”

Griff squeezes his eyes shut. “I had to remind you. I couldn’t just…it couldn’t have all been for nothing.”

Another long silence passes between them. Dogma is still having trouble processing the slew of memories that have awakened. He wonders for a moment if they’re false, if Griff is playing an unbelievably cruel prank on him. But no, every recollection is so real, so vivid, from the voices and the smell of blood right down to colours and tastes. Everything happened, just the way he’d remembered it, and his blind subservience had made it all possible.

“Why did they do it?” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “If I was so loyal, why recondition me?”

He looks up to meet Griff’s eyes, and for the first time since they met, Griff smiles. His eyes still brim with tears, but the smile is warm, and genuine, and sends an odd tingling sensation flashing through his stomach.

“Because you learned, CT-8599,” he says, and there’s some odd emotion in his voice that Dogma can’t pin down. “General Krell…he used you. He lied to you, and manipulated you, so you learnt to question. You made your own decision when you killed him. I’m not gonna pretend I agree with killing people, but that was a choice you made. Maybe it was the right one, I dunno. Either way, he made you independent. And that’s something those Kaminoan _shabuire_ can’t have.”

Dogma blinks in surprise at the expletive. He hadn’t expected the stranger to know any Mando’a.

“So they wiped you clean,” Griff continues. The smile has disappeared from his face, leaving behind a bitter voice. “They made you forget. Oh, they kept the obedience and the loyalty, that’s all stuff they could use. But you were just another number. Another perfect soldier. But you ain’t clean, CT-8599. You’re an individual, a human, just like me. I couldn’t just let ‘em take that away from you.”

Dogma feels a sudden rush of… _something_ , in his stomach. A moment later, he remembers it’s affection. “You came here just to remind me?” he asks. There’s no way that can be the case, really. He’s just a clone trooper, after all. It’s not as if he’s _worth_ anything.

“I sure did,” Griff replies. Dogma blinks in shock. “Not just that, I came to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?”

Griff responds with a smirk. “What if I told you that you could help us save more of your brothers? That’s what we do, see. We travel around the galaxy, and we help clone troopers where the odds are stacked against ‘em.” Dogma nods. He knows the stories. Even if his brothers didn’t tell them all the time, they’re all over the HoloNet. “Trouble is, we don’t always know exactly where we’re needed. You could help us with that.”

For a moment, Dogma’s old blind loyalty to the Republic resurfaces. Him, become a double-agent? He should just take this intruder to the cells and have him sent to Coruscant for a trial. But then he thinks of Umbara, and Krell, and all the clones that Dogma had so foolishly allowed, no, _helped_ him to kill. He can never make up for that, not really. But he owes it to all the men buried on that dark planet to try.

“I’ll do it,” he says. “Whatever it takes, I’ll help you.”

A grin cracks Griff’s freckled face. He looks good, Dogma finds himself thinking. He takes the binders from Griff’s wrists, and Griff takes the opportunity to yank him into a full-on hug. Dogma’s belly fizzes strangely, and his throat seems to clench. A full ten seconds of squeezing later, and Griff draws back to beam at him.

“Oh!” He reaches into a pouch on his belt, and pulls out a small comm unit. “You’ll need this to contact us. You can reach us any time, there’s always someone manning the communications panel. You just call us when and if you find anything, and we’ll be there.”

Dogma takes the small, silver device. It’s around the size of a coaster, but fits snugly into one of his own belt pouches. He fixes Griff with what he hopes is a look of steely determination. “I’ll do my duty to my brothers, Griff. I won’t fail them again.”

They stand up, Dogma retrieving his helmet from the ground. He slips it back onto his head. Then he stands to attention, back straight and shoulders back, and salutes Griff with military pomp. Griff laughs, and returns the gesture, albeit in a much more casual manner.

“Good luck, CT-8599,” he says.

The trooper looks down at him. “Call me Dogma.”

Dogma turns on his heel and walks back up to the landing strip, blaster in hand. This morning, he’d had a mission, a duty to the Republic, but now he has a new sense of purpose. Now he feels that he’ll really be doing some good.

Clone trooper Dogma will not betray his brothers again.


End file.
